


Brokenhearted I and II, The

by thebasement_archivist



Category: Eroica Yori Ai o Komete | From Eroica with Love, The X-Files
Genre: Crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-05-15
Updated: 2001-05-15
Packaged: 2018-11-20 06:34:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11330457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Vulnerable!Alex/Sweet!Mulder - need I say more? Takes place after Mulder returns from wherever he's been. Sugar overload imminent...





	Brokenhearted I and II, The

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

The Brokenhearted I: Pathetic By Jennie

Title: Pathetic  
Author: Jennie  
Pairing: M/K  
Rating: NC-17  
Status: New, complete  
Series/Sequel: Yep - first in "The Brokenhearted" series  
Spoilers: Well, yeah, I suppose, for everything up to 8th season  
Archive: Yes, to RatB and DitB  
Disclaimers: Neither of these boys are mine - no money made here - no copyright infringement intended.  
Feedback: Oh, please! <>  
Other websites: <http://www.squidge.org/~drruthless/>, <http://fullhouseslash.slashcity.net/hosted/Jennie.htm#other> and, of course, my site at RatB, thanks to Ned & Leny - <http://fullhouseslash.slashcity.net/hosted/Jennie.htm#other>  
Crossover: Brief mention of Eroica (Eroica is a Japanese Manga featuring Dorian and Klaus - they will appear in part 2)  
Notes: Huge thank you to Teri, Sue and Pic for the betas - and Ursula for the final touches! Gratitude to Jami W and Ladonna for the comments and encouragement! This will have a sequel *sigh* hopefully soon. FYI, Dorian and Klaus are from the Eroica universe.  
Summary: Vulnerable!Alex/Sweet!Mulder - need I say more? Takes place after Mulder returns from wherever he's been. Sugar overload imminent...  
I blame this on Ladonna - she knows why.

* * *

I walk in shadows searching for light   
Cold and alone, no comfort in sight,   
Hoping and praying for someone to care   
Always moving and going nowhere 

What Becomes of the Brokenhearted   
Lyrics and Music by James Dean, Paul Riser, & William Weatherspoon

The Brokenhearted Part 1: Pathetic  
By Jennie 

I was pathetic.

Absolutely, irrevocably fucking pathetic.

I'd been pacing out on the street in front of his place for hours. Well, okay, I suppose it was more like one hour - but it sure as hell seemed like more.

To go in or not to go in? 

That was the question.

And people say I have no sense of humor.

Would he beat me up again? Shoot me - thereby putting out of my misery? Cut me to shreds with that razor sharp tongue of his? What? Did I even care?

No, I didn't. Just seeing him again, healthy, awake and aware, was easily worth the risk of any bodily harm he might choose to inflict upon me.

Oh hell, who am I kidding? Any attention from him - good or bad - would be better than none.

As I may have mentioned previously... pathetic.

Gathering my resolve, I straightened my shoulders and crossed the street. Dammit, I would face him ... now. It was far past time for this.

Standing in front of his door, I hesitated once again. Panic was all too close to the surface. 

//Dammit, Alex, you're a cold-blooded assassin, for god's sake. A killer. A spy. You've faced far worse than this. Many times. Knock on the fucking door already!//

Yeah, right. Like I was gonna listen to a pathetic specimen such as myself.

Ashamed, yet too afraid actually to knock, I gave in to my weak-kneed fears and uncertainties and turned away. God, I'm a sorry bastard.

******

I knew he was out there from the beginning. Don't ask me how. Drawn to the window for unknown reasons, I'd looked down to see my very own rat bastard. He stood, forlorn, on the sidewalk across from my building.

//My *very own* rat bastard?//

What the hell?

Since my return I'd noticed a slight change in my perceptions of those who'd had an impact on my life - Scully, Skinner... and now, Alex.

//Fuck! Exactly *when* had he become 'Alex'?//

Yeah, I'd wanted him - back when we were partners and I'd actually bought his young-eager-green-Mulder-adoring-agent routine. Then, hating him became such a large part of my life that I buried that embarrassing weakness on my part beneath layers of frozen anger.

Buried it deeply.

And now, here I was at my window, watching him... calling him 'Alex'. What the hell had happened to me? What had been *done* to my mind during my recent, um, sojourn with the aliens?

Then, he crossed the street and disappeared. I watched for him to appear further up the sidewalk. Not a trace of him. It seemed he was on his way up here. 

Fuck.

I wasn't ready. Needed more time to examine this whole thing.

I'd ignore him. That was it. Pretend to be asleep, or not home, or *something*. Anything but deal with these new and disturbing feelings.

//Face it Fox, old man, the feelings aren't new - you've just been hiding from them.//

::Fuck you::

//Yeah, tell yourself that - argue. But, *I* know the truth//

::Shut the hell up.::

Great - now I was arguing with myself. In full fucking sentences.

Spooky Mulder, that's me.

Crazier than ever.

No knock. Just that presence outside in the hall. I could *feel* him out there.

I waited.

And waited.

Still nothing.

Finally, unable to contain my curiosity, I crossed to the door and peeked out through the spyhole. 

He was there all right. And with such a look on his face - doubt, hesitation, need, pain, longing... Damn. I opened the door only to find him in the act of retreat. He spun back and, shocked, he stared at me wide-eyed. Thought he was gonna cut. Then, he squared his shoulders and nodded hesitantly at me.

"Mulder," he offered in a husky voice. 

That, it seemed was all he had to say. I waited for more, hoping in vain for a hint. His eyes darted to my feet, to the wall, to the doorjamb, to the room behind me - and, he just stood there. Waiting too. For what, I had no idea.

I cleared my throat. "Alex."

That brought his eyes flying up to meet mine in stunned disbelief. "Alex?" He repeated in a near whisper. "You... you called me Alex."

"Yeah, I did."

And, damned if he didn't just throw himself at me, wrapping his arm firmly around my neck and pressing his trembling body against me.

Frozen with shock, I just stood there. Then, lord only knows why, I found my own arms closing around him. I pulled him near and buried my face in his neck.

*******

Although I fully expected to find myself plastered, rather violently, against the far wall for my temerity, he pulled me close and returned my embrace. Much to my shame, I found myself shaking in reaction. This was so much more than I'd hoped for.

So very much more.

Tears threatened. No, I'm not kidding - nor am I exaggerating. I actually found myself on the verge of crying.

//Dammit, Alex - you don't cry. You *never* cry. Control yourself, fool//

"Alex," he whispered in one ear, "are you okay?"

Oh, Fuck! Did he have to sound so ... concerned? 

Never mind me... What was wrong with *him*?

"I'm fine, Mulder," I said haltingly. "I just wanted to check on you - make sure *you* were okay."

I felt him shrug. "Getting there, Alex. Getting there slowly."

Oh man - Alex, Alex, Alex. Why was he *calling* me that? Hadn't done so since ... //Do *not* go there, Krycek. Just don't//

He backed up a step. Arms still around me, he pulled me along with him.

"Mulder?"

Raising his head, he met my eyes. "Hush, Alex. Just going inside. Don't want to give my neighbors a free show, do we?"

//Huh?//

A show? My mind went blank and all I could do was blindly follow his lead. Whatever he wanted, I realized with a sinking stomach, was what *I* wanted.

******

Okay, so now I had him in my apartment. What the hell was I going to do with him? What did I *want* to do with him?

//Shit, Foxy, you know damned well what you want. Go on, admit it - you *want* him//

::Yeah, yeah ... so I want him. The question is, how *much* do I want? And, how? Do I want to do this to him, or *with* him?::

//Huh. Don't fool yourself. You know perfectly well.//

Shit. 

Yeah, I *did* know. I knew all too well. And, apparently, he wanted me too. His urgent clinging told me that. *Showed* me, in fact.

But why? What had brought about this sudden and disconcerting need for me? Why was he so ... so desperate? Why was he so damned needy, so open in his desire? 

I had a bad feeling about this. Something drastic must have happened in his life. Something catastrophic, even, to bring about this openness, this vulnerability.

Fearful of the possible reasons, I led him to the sofa and sat him down. Stepping back, pulling away from his clinging arm despite his unspoken objection, I stood in front of him and studied his face.

Oh, god. If he keeps looking at me with those wide green eyes, filled with...

What the hell *was* that expression anyway? Had I not known better, I'd have identified it as love, desperate need and desire.

His heavy lashes fell for a beat and he swallowed heavily. 

Fuck the dog. How did one deal with a needy Krycek, showing all of the signs of lovesickness? Did I *really* want to open myself to this?

Could I not?

"Um," I searched for words. Finally, I settled back on an old standby. "How about a drink, Alex?"

He nodded.

Seemed that he was incapable of speech. This could be a problem. 

"Vodka?" I asked.

Another nod.

Why did I, a beer drinker, have Vodka in the house? Stoli, for christ's sake. I decided not to examine that particular question too closely - just as I hadn't when I'd bought the damned stuff - and carefully - hopefully? -stored it in my freezer. As all dedicated Vodka drinkers do.

Shit.

I headed into the kitchen. 

He almost followed - I saw his aborted move to rise. 

"I'll be right back," I reassured him. 

"Promise?" he asked.

I inclined my head affirmatively - unable to speak in the face of his sudden fear.

Not knowing why I hurried, I efficiently poured a shot of the Stoli, grabbed a beer for myself, and then walked back to join him.

Settling at the other end of the couch, I handed over his drink and took a deep swallow from my beer. When I looked at him, my heart stuttered. He was watching me. Closely. Fascinated, it seemed, by my throat.

Oh, man.

******

//He's staring at me!//

What now? I couldn't quite bring myself to open the conversation that so obviously loomed, so I took refuge in my drink. 

Stoli!

That *had* to be a good sign - that he would happen to have my favorite drink on hand.

Didn't it?

"Alex," he finally said softly. "Won't you tell me what's wrong?"

Wrong? 

*Wrong*?

Well, shit - didn't he have a clue by now? I wanted him. I needed him. 

And, I was scared of my feelings - my lack of control.

I opened my mouth to answer - having absolutely *no* idea what I'd say - and found that I had no words to explain. I stared at him helplessly for a moment, then, gathering my resolve, I moved closer to him.

He didn't complain ... or stiffen against me ... or withdraw. He just sat there and accepted my closeness.

Sighing, I leaned closer. Almost passed out cold when he put one arm around my shoulders, pulling me up against his warmth.

"Tell me," he murmured.

Good old Mulder - never give up - investigate the X-File of my ... odd behavior. Of course, how could he not? The *was* Mulder, after all.

"I, ah ... I'm not sure, Mulder. It's just that - " Stuttering to a halt, I drained my drink and actually fidgeted with the glass. Imagine that - *me* fidgeting. Hell's bells. 

"Just that what?"

"Um, well... As I said, I needed to see you - be sure you were okay." 

"Mmmhmm. What else?"

*What else*?!

Hadn't he figured it out by now? It wasn't as if I'd been exactly subtle.

"Want you," I finally mumbled. "Always have. And now ... now I can't seem to control it." I raised my head and met his eyes. "What he hell is my problem, Mulder? This isn't new - I've always wanted you. Why can't I ... hide it any longer?" Pleadingly, I gazed at him.

//Please, Mulder, *please* help me//

*******

"I don't know, Alex," I said, wishing that I had an answer for him. "Has anything particularly notable happened to you lately? Aside from the obvious, of course."

Lowering his eyes - where the fuck did he get off having those lashes, anyway? - he frowned and hesitated. 

So... there *was* something. Now, if he'd just tell me. Explain. Confide. Face whatever it was.

"Alex?" I encouraged.

After several false starts, he clenched his fingers in my shirtfront and buried his face in my neck, taking a deep breath. I was so distracted by the way he pressed his body against mine I almost didn't hear his quiet words. "I had a couple of friends - not involved in all this, ya know?"

I nodded - controlling my knee-jerk response to the concept of Krycek having friends - and kept silent.

"They, uh, they were attracted to each other but they never did anything about it... Not that Dorian didn't try." He paused for a moment and smiled wistfully. "Klaus, though, he was scared, I guess. Anyway, one of them died today. Violently."

"And...?" I prompted - just like a good little psychologist.

"Well, they had a very similar relationship to ours - or, at least, one of them acted as if he hated the other ... Klaus - the hater - called me to tell me the news about Dorian. He was so... so sad. He didn't actually say so, but I could tell he regretted never having acted on his attraction to Dorian." Alex sighed and shrugged. "After I got off the phone, well, I thought about the way I felt when you were missing, having this chance to tell you how I felt ... I just had to come over, Mulder."

I could understand that - almost. Still ... 

"You said that you want me. What do you mean by that?" I asked, gingerly feeling my way through this morass. "You want to fuck me? Once ... twice... what?"

He pulled away and met my eyes. "It's more ... much more." A tide of red crept up his face. "I'm in love with you. Don't want to 'fuck' you. Want to make love. With you. More than once. Forever, actually."

My, my, my. That certainly answered that. Much to my surprise, it sounded like a damn fine idea to me.

I was flattered. I was intrigued.

I was very much afraid that I returned his feelings.

"Obviously, this is ... a shock, but - I'd like to explore the possibilities - extreme as they may be, Alex. I think I may ... Shit, I don't know *how* I feel." I said slowly. "I just know that I want you. Can we start there and see what happens?"

******

//He wants me ... *wants* me!//

Oh. My. God.

Not that I believe in any all-powerful deity anymore after all I've seen and done, mind you - but this, if anything ever could - just might restore my faith.

"So ... what do we do now?" 

He smiled and leaned towards me. "Well, a kiss seems like a good place to start, don't you think?"

My voice deserted me again, so I nodded. Heart pounding, I watched his face move closer and closer.

Jesus, the man could *kiss*. What started out as a tentative experimental kind of a thing quickly heated up. I couldn't get enough. Moaning, I plastered myself against him, opening my mouth to his voracious tongue. 

He took full advantage, all traces of hesitation gone. Explored my oral cavity thoroughly. I wondered just how he'd gained this heretofore-unknown talent. Decided I didn't care at the moment and simply enjoyed.

Panting, he tore his lips away. "Bedroom?" He suggested breathlessly.

"Uh." Dazedly, I met his eyes and, what I saw there almost did me in. It was one thing to hear him say he wanted me, actually to see that desire in his eyes though, well, I was once again speechless. Silently I nodded, unable to do more.

That was when he smiled.

At me.

For the first time in years - far too many years - I was warm. I felt safe. 

I was terrified.

I mean, I'd held his undivided attention - you know - all that anger and hatred he reserved just for our encounters. But to have him look at me this way... 

Like I said - I was fucking terrified.

"Alex?"

I jumped. I actually started in surprise when he said my name. Oh man, I was in *huge* trouble this time. I had no defenses against him.

None.

Suddenly, leaving seemed like a damned fine idea. Running as far as I possibly could - and, never, ever coming back. 

********

Uh oh. //He's gonna run.// I could read his intention in the wary green eyes, feel it in the sudden tension that sang through his still form. 

"Oh, no, you don't," I said softly as I tightened my hold on him. "You're not running out on me this time, Alex." Slowly, I rose to my feet, pulling him up with me, and started backing towards the bedroom. 

He followed along in an almost frighteningly subdued manner. Until his eyes, which were again refusing to meet mine, fell upon the bed. He stopped cold and took a deep breath.

Fascinated, I watched as he stared, a faint blush rising over his cheekbones. "Um, Mulder..." he said quietly, still watching the bed as if he expected the Alien Bounty Hunter to appear from under the pillows. "I should tell you -"

"Tell me what?" I encouraged, glad that he was at least talking.

"I haven't ever actually - ah - done this," he stuttered, nodding in the direction of the bed.

//Huh?//

"Haven't done what?" I managed to ask aloud.

"This."

Well, that sure as hell cleared things up. I frowned and studied his averted face. "What, exactly, do you mean by 'this', Alex?" //C'mon, help me out here.//

Ducking his head, he mumbled something. The only word I caught was 'man'.

Oh boy. He couldn't possibly be saying what I was very much afraid he was saying.

Could he?

"You've never had sex with a man?" I asked incredulously. I'd always thought he used all his sex appeal in his work. What better weapon for a multiplicably duplicitous agent?

Dammit, the man was just too ... too *pretty* to be wasted on women.

He swallowed heavily and his tongue flicked out to lick his lips. "No, never with a man. Not with many women, for that matter."

Oookay.

So, what the hell does one do with a virginal assassin? 

One proceeds cautiously.

*Very* cautiously.

I, being the scrupulously careful guy that I am, loosened my hold and tried to step back. 

Not, apparently, what he wanted me to do. His eyes widened and flew to meet mine. "No, don't. I mean, don't stop now."

"Hush," I soothed. "I'm not stopping, Alex. Just regrouping."

"Oh." He relaxed marginally and lowered his lashes again. "So, have you -" he waved at the bed again.

"Yeah, I have - went to school in England. Remember?"

His expression was an incredible combination of relief and murderous jealousy. My rat wasn't too fond of the idea of my having had male lovers. I wanted to smile at the thought - didn't, though.

I'm not *that* stupid.

I kissed him instead.

Now, that was a good idea. It only took him about two seconds to warm up. And, let me tell you, a warm Alex Krycek is a very fine thing to hold in one's arms.

Once he was pretty well distracted by the kiss, I let my hands wander. Soothingly, I ran my fingers up his spine to his shoulders, then started a path down each of his arms.

Whoa.

He didn't like that at all. In fact, he stiffened and pulled away from me.

It was the damned arm, of course. And, hell, I had *no* idea how to tackle that particular problem. Finally, I drew a deep breath and bit the bullet. "Alex, if we're going to be lovers, I'll see it sooner or later. Why not get it out of the way?"

********

//Lovers//

Lovers. I know he said more than the one word - but I didn't hear anything beyond it.

Wow.

By the time I recovered from the shock, finally becoming aware of his expectant stare, he was starting to frown in concern.

"Alex?"

"What?" I just couldn't for the life of me recall what he'd asked.

He plucked at the sleeve of my shirt.

Oh.

Shit.

I was gonna have to let him see it - the hideous thing that had once been my arm. Funny, I hadn't even considered that possibility when I'd come over here, despite what I'd hoped for. 

"Alex?" He asked again.

Closing my eyes, I nodded. "Go ahead, Mulder."

Very carefully - damn, he was handling me as if I were made of the finest crystal - he removed the shirt. It took every ounce the of self-control I'd gained over the years to stand still while he figured out the straps and buckles of that awful prosthetic and removed it from me. Dimly, I felt him shift to place it on the dresser.

I was shaking. I knew he could see it. Hell, he couldn't possibly miss the tremors quaking through me. God, how embarrassing. How fucking humiliating. 

Have I mentioned how pathetic I am?

He stepped away just a fraction and I almost panicked. I thought he was leaving, actually. It made perfect sense to me. After all, I'd seen my arm - I knew how ugly it was. Is. Whatever. Hell, I'd have run a mile if a lover of mine revealed such a disfigurement.

Now there's a good one - 'a lover of mine'. Yeah, right. Let's be perfectly honest here - in my line of work, lovers are simply not part of the equation. Unless, of course, you really *want* to bury someone you love, or be betrayed by them. Because the inevitable outcome is one or the other and sometimes, both.

I knew. I'd seen it happen to far too many of my associates.

So, I'd always been very careful. A one night stand here, a quickie there -never, ever twice with the same woman. Go ahead, call me paranoid. I don't mind. Really, I don't.

I'm still alive, aren't I?

And, yet, for all that, here I was in Mulder's bedroom, and I'd just told him that I loved him. That I wanted to make love with him. Having stripped myself naked, at least metaphorically, I chose to ignore all of the reasons this was not a good idea.

So, anyway, enough with the introspection, right?

He didn't leave. Amazingly, neither did I. When he finally pulled me back into his arms, I realized that he'd taken off his shirt, too.

"Are you okay?" he murmured into one of my ears.

//Hell no!//

I didn't say that, of course. Oh no. I nodded affirmatively.

That's one of the first things you learn in spy school. How to lie. Said lying should, theoretically speaking, be believable, but, hey, I was just glad that I'd managed to respond at all. Not bad: I was being metaphorical and theoretical at the same time.

"Then, would you look at me, please?"

That was easier said than done. Took three tries, but I finally managed it. Opened my eyes and gazed up into his.

He still wanted me. It was still right there, that desire, all too evident in his expression, along with concern and sorrow. 

No pity, though.

It was okay, I realized, suddenly and completely. We would do this thing -make love - Mulder and I and, he'd take care of me.

How weird is that? 

*******

His guarded look just about broke my heart. God, it was a sin against nature that he'd been disfigured. Still, he was Alex - *my* Alex ... My rat. No missing limb, no disfigurement, could negate the man's innate beauty. It occurred to me then that he might not ever have let anyone see his arm under these circumstances, in fact, judging by his reactions so far, it was entirely possible that he'd not been intimate with anyone since the debacle in Siberia.

I was damned confused by the whole thing. What on earth had happened to Krycek? More importantly, who the hell was this guy? He looked like Krycek, sounded like Krycek, felt like Krycek, but ... he in no way, shape or form acted like any Krycek I'd ever seen.

Not that I'm complaining, mind you. Nope, I'd never complain about *this*. Well, okay, maybe there was a time I'd have thrown him out of the window for daring to touch me, but, no more.

I liked this new Krycek. This Alex. I liked him a lot.

Then, he smiled this secret smile and relaxed against me.

For the longest time, we just stood there, clinging to each other. I ran my hands over his back and shoulders, carefully avoiding his stump. Tentatively, he started to touch me as well. I shivered under the heat of his hand, arching to encourage his exploration, and he seemed to like that. He started making the most interesting noise. It was almost a purr.

I wondered what that voice would sound like screaming my name in passion, and, suddenly, getting horizontal took on paramount importance. I wanted to feel more of him, taste more of him. Hell, I just wanted him.

It was a little awkward, but I managed to shuffle us to the bed without anyone actually falling on his ass. Once I had him reclining on the mattress, he was so damned fascinated with the mirrored canopy he didn't even notice that I was removing his boots and jeans.

He was actually pretty darn cute, to tell you the truth. You'd be amazed at just how huge his eyes can get when he's caught by surprise. By the time I'd undressed and started to climb into the bed with him, he'd recovered somewhat from the shock of finding a mirror over it.

Then the unmistakable waves of the waterbed mattress seemed to register. And, incredibly, he laughed.

Well, okay, I'll be completely candid - he giggled.

"Mulder," giggle, "I can't believe you have a," snort. "A waterbed." Weakly he waved upwards, "With a ... a mirror!" Gales of laughter.

I grinned, inordinately pleased that my sleeping accommodations amused him and damned glad that I'd replaced the thing after the great flood. I'd very seriously considered buying a normal bed after the last mattress sprang a leak, changed my mind at the last minute. Maybe I'd known ...

Eventually, his hilarity faded. I helped the process along by lying next to him and pressing my length along his left side. I figured that was best -left his right side free for whatever he might want to do. He didn't even flinch away when his stump touched me - or, when I touched it - whichever the case may have been.

I took that as a good sign.

********

Well, that had relaxed me. I can't even tell you the last time I laughed -really laughed. Finally I got myself under control - and, I'll tell you, it wasn't easy. I mean, really - Mr. I-sleep-on-the-sofa with this ... this decadent bedroom set? 

Obviously, I still had a lot to learn about Mulder.

Then, he touched me. Started running his fingers across my chest, tracing an aimless pattern from scar to scar. Got my attention in a big fucking hurry. He touched me with such care. I hadn't expected that. Hell, I'd been in prisons and had seen more than enough to convince me that sex between men was always of the rough variety. And fast. No petting or kissing or any of that shit - just fucking and/or sucking.

Which, I suppose, isn't all that different from what I'd always done with women It was just much more frightening - to trust a man - any man - enough to get naked with him and let him touch me.

And when I finally gathered my courage and took the big step, I find out that I hadn't known a damn thing about it. Everything he did was completely outside of my experience. 

He kept on touching me. Stroking me from hairline to knees. Avoiding the one place I was panting to feel his hand. And, he kept smiling. Every time I made a sound, a gasp or moan, he looked at me as if I were the cleverest man on Earth.

When his hand crept up the inside of one thigh, I held my breath in anticipation. Finally... But no - the bastard skipped right past my need and skated up my hip to start a series of ever-narrowing circles around my navel.

"Mulder," I protested in an embarrassingly weak voice, "you're a tease!"

His grin could only be described as sly. "I'm not teasing, Alex."

"Then, what the hell do you call it?"

"I'm promising, Alex. Promising."

Oh man. Where the hell had he been hiding that particular tone of voice? Damn, if he'd used that on me back in the days of Agent Alex, I'd have folded and told him every secret I knew. Very happily, too.

"Oh, god," I groaned. "You're gonna kill me, aren't you?"

Lowering his head, he started nibbling at my earlobe. "Only in the very best way, Alex."

I had no problem believing that. I'd have told him so, too, if only I'd been capable of speech. The facility seemed to have deserted me again. You see, he was doing the most incredible things to my neck. Nibbling, sucking, licking ... I was in heaven. And, his hand. What his clever fingers were doing to my nipples - well, suffice it to say that I couldn't have spoken to save my life at that moment.

I could, however, make plenty of noise. In fact, I became extremely vocal. Distantly, it occurred that this was not a good thing. Guys in my line just shouldn't make noise - lose control - be so completely uncaring that that they were doing both.

I chose to ignore the thought. Well, I think I chose to ignore it - maybe Mulder's ministrations affected that choice.

His hair brushed against my chin, and I vaguely wondered what he would do next. As near as I can recall, that was the last coherent truly thought I had for a very long time.

His lips latched on to my right nipple.

I gasped.

And, then he tried to kill me. I swear to god, he did. Gave it one hell of a try.

I'm strong, though. Survived.

What did he do, you ask? Okay, he was sucking on my nipple, remember? And I was really fine with that. Damn fine. He has a very talented mouth. Trust me on this. I was so distracted, I didn't even notice his hand creeping down my midline.

So, I was caught completely by surprise when he suddenly wrapped warm fingers around my cock. I think I yelled something. Might have been his name. Whatever it was, he liked it. Lifted his head and smiled at me. 

This is the part where he tried to kill me: He was smiling, like I said. And, I was lying there in a near state of shock. With a move that I only recall in the vaguest way, he slipped down the bed and swallowed my erection whole.

Now, do you see what I mean? My heart almost stopped right then and there. The man was trying to kill me.

And I couldn't have possibly cared any less.

********

So, okay, obviously he's a virgin. A very experienced kind of a virgin, sure, but a virgin all the same.

This was *not* going to be easy.

You just can't imagine how he looked. He'd been tossing his head around on the pillow, and his hair was standing on end. Under any other circumstances, I'd probably have been snickering at him. But, once my eyes fell on his face... His color was high - not exactly a blush - more a flush of arousal, and his lips were parted as he gasped for air. He has very pretty lips, I'm sure you've noticed that. Well, double that when they're all soft and relaxed -slightly puffy from being kissed... And his eyes - they were *glittering* at me.

I'd never seen anything quite like it.

I wanted to be inside of him so badly that I felt an actual physical ache at the thought. Yeah, I know... Virgin. Damn. I had to let him set the pace -not hurt him or scare him. And, I had to face the truth; I, in my extreme state of arousal, was not exactly the best candidate to give anyone a wonderful first experience of being fucked.

So, I knelt at his side, breathing deeply, trying to reign myself in. It was working, too.

"Mulder."

I made a mental note to gag him in future to have a hope of maintaining anything resembling control with him. 

I met his eyes and swallowed heavily. He was still glittering. Only now his eyes were fully open and directed unerringly on mine. 

If this guy ever did decide to use this side of himself in his work, he'd be emperor of the damn planet inside of a year.

"I want you," he said simply.

Leaning forward, I braced my hands on either side of his body. "I'm right here, Alex. Not going anywhere."

He shook his head and smiled at me. "No." I swear his voice dropped an octave. "Want you to fuck me. Now."

I'm not sure, but I think I may have had a heart attack at that moment. I know my heart stopped. That constitutes a heart attack, doesn't it?

I froze for several beats, staring down at him.

He just lay there, glittering and smiling.

********

It should have been embarrassing. Really, it should have. But, somehow, Mulder managed to keep the process of preparing me for him from being anything other than ... Well, think about it. You'd think having a guy sticking his fingers in your asshole would be a little, um, uncomfortable, shall we say? I'm here to tell you that, with Mulder at least, that is definitely not the case. 

Shit, by the time he decided I was ready, I'd have happily gotten down on my knees and *begged* him to fuck me.

And, in fact, I was seriously considering doing just that. He seemed to read my intent in my expression, though. He rose to his knees and grabbed a pillow, placing it under my hips. His hands were resting on my thighs, thumbs gently stroking the sensitive skin.

"Get me ready, Alex."

I swallowed and blinked. "Re - ready?" I stammered. "How?"

I know, you're probably laughing at me but, he didn't. No, he just smiled and handed me the lube.

Oh.

Okay, I got the picture. I held the tube of lubricant in my hand and stared at it. Then I looked back up at him. "Um, Mulder," I handed the lube back to him. "One hand, remember?"

"Oh shit," he looked stricken that he'd not taken this into account. "'M sorry. I'll ah, just..." Fumbling, in the cutest way possible, he managed to squeeze a generous amount of the thick gel onto my hand. 

And I was so taken with this side of him, this man, red-faced with need and embarrassment, that I forgot to be uncomfortable with my first experience of touching another man's cock. 

It was damned fascinating. Familiar, yet not. Carefully, I spread the slick over him, watching his face closely, filing away every expression for future contemplation.

"Stop."

I pulled my hand away as if burned. He'd sounded pained. Agonized, even. "What?" I asked, worried - afraid I'd somehow hurt him.

"We'll never make it to the main event if you keep doing that."

Simple words. Innocuous words.

They took my breath away. Not so much the words themselves, but the tone in which he delivered them. Breathless and needy and ... Damn! He really did want me.

********

So, I was ready. He was ready. 

Simple enough, right?

Sure. In your dreams. He lay there, perfectly relaxed, still glittering at me. And I was so fucking scared. Afraid I'd hurt him, or disappoint him.

"Mulder," he murmured, reaching up to me. "C'mon. Let's go." 

I nodded. What else could I do? That husky voice, the one that could drive me crazy at the best of times, was now roughened with passion. Did I say it would be a year before he'd be running the planet? Make that a month.

Lifting his legs over my shoulders, I leaned forward and put the head of my cock against his entrance. And I pushed. Just a little bit. Couldn't resist. Just one slight thrust of my hips.

He let out a gasp and I froze. "Alex? You okay?"

"No ... yes ... Christ, Mulder, if you stop now, I'll get my gun and..."

Well, that was a first. Never had a lover threaten to shoot me in bed. 

Ever so carefully, I started to work my way inside of him. Watching all the while for any signs of discomfort on his part. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the sensations so new to him. That adorable little v-shaped wrinkle appeared between his eyebrows, but I saw no indication of pain. Just intense concentration.

Once I was fully encased in his tightness, I paused again, waiting for him to adjust to my presence. His lashes fluttered, and I could see his eyes flicking back and forth under the lids. Licking his lips, he rolled his head on the pillow as his respiration rate increased. 

Tentatively, I pulled out partway and then pushed back into him.

He groaned and opened his eyes. "More," he demanded breathlessly. "Do it, Mulder ... I need to feel you."

"Easy, babe. I don't want to hurt you."

He growled at me. That low rumble went straight to my cock. Jesus, how could his voice affect me so deeply?

"Now, Mulder." He lowered his legs to wrap them around my waist and shifted beneath me impatiently. "Dammit, Mulder, fuck me."

I wanted nothing more that to slam in and out of him with all the force at my disposal. But, I controlled myself. Smoothly, slowly, I started thrusting, pulling out a bit further with each stroke.

"Oh, god," he groaned. "This is ... so good. So *fucking* good."

I grinned. Adjusted my angle and let my cockhead brush across his prostate.

And, man oh man, he loved it. Yelling in shocked pleasure, he pushed his hips up towards mine. "Again. Do that again," he demanded.

It all starts to get jumbled after that. I remember bits and pieces. The way he pulled me down to kiss me. The way he looked at me, as if I was the only other person in his world. The way he kept pulling me into him with those strong legs. The desperate hold he had on the back on my neck.

And, most thrilling of all, the sounds he made. My name, over and over in that deep husky voice. The sighs, the moans, the pleading note that begged me for more, more, more. 

I felt my orgasm gathering at the base of my spine, sending jolts of electricity throughout my body. Knew I wouldn't last much longer. I reached down with one hand and started stroking his erection, matching the rhythm to that of my cock.

Oh, he liked that.

He loved it, in fact.

Threw back his head and encouraged me with unintelligible sounds.

"Alex," I stopped moving, waiting for him to look at me. Once he did, I tightened my hold on his cock. "Come now, Alex. I want to see you, hear your pleasure. Give it to me."

********

How the hell could he talk at a time like this? And in complete sentences yet. Obviously, I was doing something wrong here. I pushed up toward him, not in the least concerned by my open begging.

"Mulder. Oh, god, Mulder ... Please. Don't stop, damn you. Move!"

And, he did. Oh, how he did. Between his cock in my ass and his hand on my cock, I didn't stand a chance. I lasted - oh, maybe four or five more seconds. Then ... Damn! Fireworks. Bells and whistles. Every cliche you've ever read about orgasm - they're all true. When you're with the right person, that is.

I came so goddamn hard I felt my semen splatter against my own face, some even landing in my hair.

That seemed to do the trick for him. In spades. He thrust once, twice more and then joined me in ecstasy. Kept saying my name over and over. 

Then, he gazed into my eyes fiercely and grinned. "Love you. God," pant, pant, "I love you, Alex."

Oh my god - he'd said it! Looked like he meant it, too. Now, this is kind of embarrassing, and I wouldn't tell just anyone - but, hey, we're friends, right? I passed out. Cold. Complete and total overload of my senses.

********

He scared me for a moment. Thought I'd killed him. Once I reassured myself that he was still breathing, I relaxed with a satisfied smile. I was damned proud of myself.

Reluctantly, I withdrew from him and climbed out of bed. Hurrying into the bathroom, I quickly cleaned myself up and went back, damp washcloth and dry towel in hand.

He sighed and stretched languidly under my ministrations. Slowly, his eyes opened and he smiled. I finished wiping him down and dried him lovingly. Throughout the process, he seemed to come back to himself in a gradual way. When I tossed the used linens aside, he sighed and shifted.

"Should I go now?" he asked hesitantly.

"No! Absolutely not. We're not finished yet." I lay down beside him and pulled him close. "Sleep, Alex. And, when we wake up..."

"But I -"

"But nothing," I said firmly. Well, I meant it to sound firm. The huge yawn that took me by surprise probably negated the effect. "I *want* you to stay. Please say you will."

"You're sure?" God, the hope in his voice.

"Yes, I am. You're not going anywhere in the foreseeable future. Now sleep, Alex. Let's just sleep."

"Tomorrow I have to make arrangements to go to England, Mulder," he said quietly. "Won't be gone long - but, I have to go to Dorian's funeral."

I made an instant decision. "I'll go with you - if you want me to, that is."

He stilled, then lifted his head to stare at me. "Really? You'd do that?"

I kissed him. Couldn't resist. 

"Yeah. I want to be there for you - you shouldn't face that alone."

Uh oh. For a minute there, I thought he was gonna cry. Luckily, he controlled himself and settled on a slightly tremulous smile.

"Coming here was the smartest thing I've ever done, I think," he said huskily. "I love you, you know."

"Yeah, I know." And, I did. I believed him. "I love you, too, Alex. Thank you for making me realize how I feel."

He curled up against me, burying his face against my shoulder and wrapped his arm across my waist. I'm pretty sure I felt a tear or two dampen my skin. But, I could understand that - after all, I was pretty damn close to tears myself.

I kissed his hair and sighed contentedly. I didn't know where we were headed with this relationship - the perils of this becoming an ongoing affair were daunting to say the least but, Alex was worth any danger that might threaten.

His breathing gradually evened out and his body relaxed into sleep. I held him for the longest time, just enjoying the feel of him against me. 

While he slept, I was making plans for our trip to England. There were so many things I wanted to show him. Share with him.

Still plotting, I fell asleep myself.

I don't know for sure, but I think I smiled all night.

Wouldn't you have?

End  
For now...  
Watch for Brokenhearted 2 - a trip to England, a meeting with Klaus - and, surprise, surprise, Dorian may not be dead after all...*sigh*  
Why does everything I write turn into a series?

 

* * *

 

Author: Jennie  
Title: Anchor  
Feedback:   
Webpage: http://fullhouseslash.slashcity.net/hosted/Jennie.htm#other  
TotalParts: 1  
Status: Complete  
Pairing: Crossovers  
Crossover: XF/Eroica  
Rating: PG (for language)  
Series: The Brokenhearted #2, sequel to Pathetic  
Summary: Klaus at Dorian's funeral  
Notes: Two birds with one stone, here - for the Spring Challenge and part 2 of "Brokenhearted". You should probably read "Pathetic" first, else this won't make a whole hell of a lot of sense. It can be found at DitB or RatB or NickZone  
Warnings: Apparent character death. Depressed!Jennie should not write  
Disclaimer: None of these boys are mine - no money made here - no copyright infringement intended.

* * *

The anchor of a love is death.  
John Boyle O'Reilly  
Forever

The Brokenhearted 2: Anchor  
By Jennie

He'd been dreading this. And, he'd been absolutely correct to do so.

With a heavy sigh, Klaus scanned the small crowd. A grim smile tilted one corner of his mouth as he imagined Dorian's reaction to the scene. The little pervert, the man he'd considered the bane of his life, would have been vastly amused by it all. There were four... no, he realized as he saw Agent A surreptitiously wipe a tear away, five grown men crying at graveside on a beautiful spring morning.

At Dorian's graveside.

Had he been able, Klaus might have let a tear or two escape. No chance of that, though. No, he hadn't cried since his fourth birthday. But, he thought, at this moment, it would be such a fucking relief to just let go and wail his pain and confusion to the four winds.

It was paradoxical, really. As often as he'd wished for Eroica to simply disappear from his life, actually losing him was pain beyond any he'd previously experienced. Somehow, after all they'd been through, Klaus had come to expect the thief's presence in his life. Had even begun to imagine that one day he would actually slow down enough to let Dorian catch him.

What might have happened next would now forever remain the confused jumble of images and sensations that had crowded his dreams since he'd first met the Earl of Red Gloria.

The Pastor's voice trailed off into silence, and Klaus looked up. All eyes were upon him. Frowning, he dropped his eyes to the single red rose he held in one hand. He knew what came next.

And, *God*, he didn't want to do it. Ridiculous, he knew, and yet it made the whole thing so damned final. He couldn't - just couldn't do it. Backing up a step, Klaus glared at the innocent rose, then at the crowd of faces watching him expectantly.

Damn Eroica. Damn him to hell. How could he just be ... gone? It wasn't right, and it wasn't fair. Bad enough that the thief was dead, but to have died in such a ridiculously mundane way...

Once again he fought off a murderous impulse as his eyes met those of Mr. James. The fucker. *He'd* been the one to bring that cursed cat into Dorian's home. The one who'd insisted that a pet - a lovely longhaired white cat -would be the perfect foil for Eroica's golden beauty.

And how in the hell had Dorian managed to trip over the damned cat? Granted it had been dark - and very, very late at night. But Eroica was a *thief* dammit. The man had possessed incredibly sharp night vision - not too surprising, considering that such a man worked in the dark as a matter of course. How had he not seen the stupid animal? How had his innate grace and balance deserted him in that moment? And how, dammit... *how* had he managed to hit his head against the newel post with enough force to cause death?

Of all the stupid, wasteful ways to die. After all of the dangerous situations they'd faced together - it was too fucking idiotic to even contemplate.

The pastor cleared his throat and Klaus started, retreating yet another step. A warmth at his back halted his movement and he tensed, wondering murderously who the hell had the temerity to invade his personal space in such a manner.

"Klaus," a husky voice said evenly. "It's time - they're waiting for you."

Krycek, Klaus realized. He hadn't even been aware that the man was present. The Major took a deep breath, his fist closing convulsively on the rose's stem. Turning slowly, he met a level green gaze.

"I cannot-" Hearing the dangerously husky note in his voice, Klaus bit off the words and simply shook his head stubbornly.

"You can." Krycek's hand rose to grip his shoulder tightly. "You will." With implacable strength, Krycek pushed Klaus around until they faced the coffin together. "You must," he urged quietly.

As he moved forward, obeying the quietly murmured words of encouragement, Klaus thought that the only thing holding him together was that hand on his shoulder. Without it, surely he would have been shattered into a thousand pieces - fragments of regret and sorrow, each in itself enough to cripple a man, together, far too much to bear alone.

Abreast of the coffin now, Klaus stood silent, staring at his own reflection in the polished lid. Finally, slowly, he raised his hand and carefully, precisely, placed the rose in the center of the expanse of gleaming wood.

A breeze stirred the branches of the tree at his back and a shower of petals fell. White and pink, the cherry blossoms drifted, piece by piece, dancing gracefully on their way down.

Down to cover Klaus's hair and shoulders.

Down to soften the stark reality of that single red rose lying atop Dorian's coffin.

Krycek tightened his hold on Klaus's shoulder, silently urging him to move. Someone, he knew not who, stepped up to his right side and placed a hand on his other shoulder. The two, Krycek and the unknown man, led him to a vehicle.

Numb and quiet, Klaus climbed into the car and sat staring fixedly at his hand. The hand that had held the rose. The rose he'd left on Dorian's coffin.

He would not even contemplate what it would have meant to Dorian.

Would not imagine the expression on that entirely too pretty face - the one it would have worn had Klaus ever once given in to impulse and sent Dorian just one of the roses he had adored so very much.

He didn't look back as the car pulled away. Couldn't look back.

How could he?

What did one do when one's hope for the future was suddenly past and gone?

How did one survive the end of something that had never begun?

I'm searching though I don't succeed, But someone look, there's a growing need. Oh, he is lost, there's no place for beginning, All that's left is an unhappy ending.

What Becomes of the Brokenhearted James Dean, Paul Riser & William Weatherspoon

  
Archived: April 21, 2001 


End file.
